


Stepping Backward for Another Glance

by Salr323



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-17
Updated: 2005-11-17
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Salr323
Summary: It's Donna's birthday, and Josh is having a bad day...





	Stepping Backward for Another Glance

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Stepping Backward for Another Glance**

**by:** Sally R

**Character(s):** Donna and Josh  
**Pairing(s):** Donna and Josh  
**Category(s):** Unresolved Sexual Tension  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Summary:** It's Donna's birthday, and Josh is having a bad day...  
**Written:** 2005-09-21  
**Feedback** Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I’m always trying to improve my writing, and all constructive feedback is welcome.  
**Author's Note:** This my attempt at suggesting what might have happened between S2 and S3 that could explain Cliff and Amy Gardner!  


**Wednesday 9.45 pm**  
Sam Seaborn was writing. Which, in this case, meant he was walking – pacing the corridors as he played with the words and the concepts and the rhythms. At times like this a white sheet of paper, or the glare of a blank screen, were enough to turn his mind to glass and send all the words sliding down into an incoherent pile at his feet. And so he walked – he paced – in no particular direction, and somehow he found himself passing the desk of Donna Moss, and Josh’s open office. He thought he saw fruit inside, so diverted from his pacing to investigate.

“Hey Donna,” he called with a lift of his hand, eyes fixed on the fruit bowl. That looked like an orange.

“Hey Sam,” came the cheerful reply. “Oh, I meant to ask. Did that stain come out of your suit? I told Ginger to send me the bill and—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He stopped, and nodded toward Josh’s office. “Have you forgiven him yet?”

Donna rolled her eyes slightly. “Yeah. Look, sorry about that night. I was just— I was just being stupid.”

“No, you weren’t. That wasn’t stupid, that was... Sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Her look dared him to carry on. “By that, do you mean girly, Sam?”

“No! No. I most certainly don’t mean girly, because that would be completely—”

“ _Donna!_ ” Josh thundered out of his office, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his fist. “What the hell is this?”

She cocked her head. “I don’t know. At a glance I’d say it’s a letter, but you’d have to call in a specialist to be certain.”

Josh wasn’t smiling. “It’s from –” He glanced at the paper. “It’s from MS&L.”

Donna looked blank. “I—”

“Manning Selvage and Lee?” Josh prompted. “The _Atlanta_ office?”

Donna’s jaw dropped open, her face turning a whiter shade of pale. “Oh...” She didn’t stand up, but her hands – Sam had always admired her long, slender fingers – clasped in her lap so tight her knuckles turned white.

“That’s a PR firm,” Sam offered helpfully. “Quite well respected – I think they have the Coca-Cola account.” He eyed Josh dubiously, “Are they offering you a job?”

Josh didn’t look at him, his gaze was locked with Donna’s. “Not me.” 

_Then—?_ Ah! 

Carefully, Donna rose. “Let’s talk in your office.”

“What’s wrong with right here?”

Ignoring him, she pushed past and disappeared into his office. For an instant Josh cast Sam a helpless, furious look and then he turned and followed, slamming the door so hard it bounced back open.

Sam figured it was a good time to resume his pacing. Maybe they had fruit in the mess...  


  
**Three weeks earlier**  


  
His day started at three a.m. A nightmare, a rare event now, jolted him awake and left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and blood hammering through his temples. By six o’clock the resulting insomnia had provoked a headache, and the day had gone downhill from there. It was raining, which meant the traffic at the Rock Creek bridge was snarled up by seven. He was late, and for some reason best known to God – and Donnatella Moss – his cell wasn’t working.

“Come on,” he growled, tapping it against his palm as he crept along in first gear. Nothing. Dead as a Dodo. Or dead as Josh Lyman, if he missed the morning’s senior staff meeting.

In front of him a fat-faced kid was staring out the back of an SUV, chomping gum like a cow chewing the cud. His mom was putting on lipstick in the rear view mirror, and the bumper sticker read, _So Many Lawyers, So Few Bullets_.

Josh deliberately looked away, but couldn’t shake the raw flash of anger.

“Come on...” He smacked his cell against his hand. Still nothing. He tried again, against the steering wheel this time. The tap became a sharp whack – and the back fell off. “No! Oh, come on!”

In front, the kid started chortling and pointing.

Ignoring him, Josh reached down and fumbled for the battery pack that had fallen into the foot well and managed to wedge itself behind the peddles.

In hindsight, he should have probably stopped the car.

The crunch, even at a crawl, was enough to whack his head against the steering wheel. He slammed on the breaks and cursed. Loudly.

So Many Lawyers, So Few Bullets.

Mindful of CJ, he took a deep breath. _Deputy White House Chief of Staff assaults unsuspecting gun-toting, fascist Soccer Mom after rear-ending her car..._ It wouldn’t play well in Peoria.

Keeping hold of his temper, what was left of it, Josh sat up. The kid was still staring, eyes wide. He looked like he’d swallowed the gum. But the woman was out of the car, flapping about like a beached orca with a red slash of lipstick across one cheek and a lawsuit on her lips.

“This is not happening,” Josh pleaded, climbing out of the car into the torrential rain. “Tell me this is not happening!”  


  
Donna had a plan. She couldn’t help it, her mind just worked that way. She had a compulsive need to organize that extended into areas over which she had absolutely no control. The weather being a case in point; today was meant to be sunny. It was meant to be the kind of sunny spring day that made you think of daffodils and bunny rabbits. Instead, it made you think of drowned rats.

She’d had this day planned out for weeks, from beginning to end, including smiles and meals and gifts. Birthday gifts. The weather was obviously an inauspicious start, but she was confident that the rest would go according to plan. Lunch with the girls, followed by a drink with the guys at Marshall’s after work (both already organized). And then there was Josh... He’d pretend he’d forgotten and then, no doubt, pull out a gift that managed to be both sweet and thoughtful, and yet be nothing from the list she had helpfully supplied ten days earlier.

That was how she imagined the day. Past experience warned, time after time, that too much planning only lead to grave disappointment, but Donna just couldn’t help herself. If people would only follow the plan – her plan – then everything would be just fine.

Taking off her coat as she approached her desk, she smiled at the small pile of cards waiting for her. So far, so good. She hung up her coat and riffled through the envelopes. Ginger, Toby (prompted by Ginger), Sam (prompted by Cathy), Cathy, CJ, Carol, Ed, Larry, Ainsley, Leo, Margaret... Nothing from Josh, of course, but that was just part of the game. Always a game. It was fun, she guessed, but sometimes...

Dismissing the thought, she glanced at her to-do list and went to pull out the papers for the security briefing and took them in to Josh.

Except he wasn’t there. The lights were off, his computer was off. “Josh?” She peeked behind the desk, just in case he’d camped out for the night, but the room was empty. Very odd. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten to work before him. Picking up his phone, she dialed his cell. “ _You have reached the phone of Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman,_ ” her own voice announced. “ _He can’t be reached right now. Please leave a message or contact his office on—_ ”

She hung up. There, on the desk where she’d left it the previous evening, was the spare battery pack topped by a Post-It note. _Your phone battery is dead. This one’s been charged. Give me your old one._

See? If people just did what they were told nothing would go wrong...  


  
His headache had been transformed by the bruise above his right ear into something of monstrous proportions that pulsed behind his eyes like a hellish disco light. His temper had been flayed by Frau Fascisto (aka Noreen Todrunter) and the skinny young kid of a cop she’d insisted on calling to ‘witness’ the accident. Officer Warren had practically fallen over backward when Josh had pulled out his Whitehouse ID, but Noreen’s eyes had simply narrowed avariciously. The claim for whiplash and gum-inhalation was probably already en route. He needed to talk to Toby. And CJ, and probably someone from the Council offices—

“You’re late.”

It was Donna, standing right in his path. He didn’t stop, just swerved around and let her catch up. “My cell’s not working.”

“That’s because the battery’s dead.”

“It made me crash the car!”

There was no answer, and after a moment he realized she’d stopped walking. When he turned around, she said, “Are you okay?”

He was soaking wet, freezing cold, with a headache the size of Texas. “Isn’t it part of your job to keep my phone working?”

“I—”

“Seriously,” he pulled the wrecked cell out of his coat pocket and dropped it on the floor, “what’s the point of having the damn thing if—”

“Don’t shout at me, Josh.”

“—if you don’t put any batteries in it?!” Spinning on his heel, he stalked toward his office through the hushed bullpen. He was too pissed to care who was listening. “And thanks to you, I got to spend half an hour being harangued by a woman who can barely spell her own name and shoots lawyers for fun!”

He punctuated the last sentence with the slam of his office door, yanked off his coat and flung himself into his chair. He’d already missed the meeting, and his brain was too fuzzed by the thumping pain to even remember what else was on the day’s schedule. He needed Tylenol.

“I brought you Tylenol.” Donna stood in the doorway, a packet of pills in one hand and a cool expression on her face. She stepped inside, deliberately closing the door behind her, and came to stand in front of his desk. “Take two.”

With a grunt, he snatched the packet, punched out three pills, and popped them into his mouth. Damn, he didn’t have any wat—

“Here.” Donna held out a bottle.

“I’m still angry,” he told her, swallowing and then sliding the bottle back across the desk. “What if I’d missed an important—” The bottle knocked against something black and rectangular, with a bright yellow Post-It note on top. Ah.

Donna picked up the water bottle. “Don’t shout at me again, Josh. And if you don’t know how to change the battery on your phone, you only have to ask.”

Saying no more, she left. A distinct chill lingered in her wake, and Josh doubted it had anything to do with his wet clothes. But his head hurt too much to think about it anymore, and he sank back into his chair and pressed his hands over his eyes.

_Is it time to go home yet...?_  


  
He’d crashed his car. She loved the way that he casually tossed the information out, like a piece of flotsam amid the angry torrent. He’d crashed his car, and even though he’d been standing right in front of her, yelling, she’d felt that horribly familiar sensation of ice crystallizing over every inch of her skin. The one that still sometimes woke her in the middle of the night; the one she’d first felt standing there in the hospital, hearing the impossible from Toby.

He’d crashed his car. He was fine, but he’d crashed his car. On her birthday. That hadn’t been part of the plan.

“Donna?” Carol was hurrying past, arms full of files. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She shook herself, and realized she’d stopped moving right outside his office, the water bottle still dangling from her fingers. “Josh crashed his car.”

Carol stopped dead. “What? Is he okay?”

Snorting a quiet harrumph, Donna headed back into the bullpen. “You didn’t hear him yelling?”

“Does he need to see CJ? Does she need to know?”

Probably. Josh hadn’t said anything, but... “Yeah, has she got five minuets?”

“I’ll call you,” Carol nodded as she started walking again. “Lunchtime okay?”

“Yeah, but he’s on the Hill from one, and for most of the afternoon.”

“Okay.” With a smile, Carol disappeared into the constant flow of human traffic and Donna settled herself behind her desk.

Work-wise, she’d planned a light day. Of course, light was a relative term, but as far as possible she’d pushed and prodded her schedule to ensure that her plan – the birthday plan – would work. She’d have time for a full hour’s lunch, and would get away by seven for drinks at Marshall’s. Glancing at her watch, she figured she had time to put up a few birthday cards before—

“ _Donna!_ ”

Or maybe not.

“ _I need the—_ ”

“I can’t hear you,” she shouted back.

“I said, I need the—”

“Did you say something?”

“Donna!” He was at his office door now, scowling. And his tie was askew. It wasn’t even nine-thirty and his tie was askew. How was that possible? “I need the—”

She smiled sweetly. “No need to shout, Josh. I’m right here.”

The scowl deepened. “Why haven’t I got the NLRB report?”

“The NLRB report?” For an instant she was confused.

And an instant was all he needed in his current frame of mind. “Yes, Donna, the NLRB report. You recall the meeting I’m having with the board? The one I’ve been preparing for for, oh, about—”

“I know what the NLRB report is,” she said, heading for the filing cabinet. “I was just wondering why you needed it right—”

“You’re not paid to wonder, Donna,” he snapped. “You’re paid to fetch.”

She froze. To _fetch_? Very slowly she turned and stared at him.

Josh flinched and inched back. But not far. He rubbed a hand over his temple and winced. “I didn’t mean— I just meant...”

“This should be good...”

His patience evaporated like thin mist on a hot day. “Sometimes I just need you to do what I ask without demanding a half hour explanation.”

“And sometimes I need you not to be such a jerk,” she muttered to herself, turning back to the filing cabinet. This was definitely not in the plan. She pulled out five files and all but shoved them at his chest. “Volume one,” she said. “You want two and three now, or later?”

His eyes widened in horror. “There’s a two and three?” She figured the question was rhetorical, so didn’t answer. Josh shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m just seeing these now. Shouldn’t I have seen these before?”

“Well, you—”

“Never mind,” he grumbled. “You’ll have to help me go through them.”

“But—”

“Donna!”

So much for the slow day. And it was right then, as she pulled out volume two and followed him into his office, that Donna realized that this year there was no game. He really had forgotten her birthday. That was bad enough, but what really bugged her – what caused her real distress – was not how much it hurt, but how stupid she felt for letting it. Her mother had always warned her about wearing her heart on her sleeve. Perhaps she’d had a point after all...  


  
“Sam?” Cathy poked her head around the door, but got no response. He was sitting very still, staring at the screen with that vacant look that said, ‘Danger: Genius at work.’ “Sam?”

He blinked, and looked up. “Huh?”

“Is it okay if I go now?”

“Okay.” And then, “Ah, where are you going?”

She smiled. “To lunch? Remember? For Donna’s birthday?”

“Oh! Right. Yeah, sure. Is there anyone...?”

“Ginger drew the short straw; she’s covering the phones.”

“Right,” his attention was drifting back to the screen. “Good... That’s— What do you think of ‘inimical’?”

She frowned. “What?”

“The word,” he clarified, looking up again. “As in, ‘acts inimical to the foreign interests of the nation’.”

“Got me,” she shrugged, backing out of the room. “And I’m running late, so...”

“You don’t know what it means?”

“I’ll be back by one.”

He was staring at the screen again, hitting backspace. “What about injurious? Deleterious? Harmful? No, too prosaic. Ruinous...? ”

Cathy left. When Sam hit the thesaurus, it was time to go. Snatching her purse, her coat and her umbrella – it hadn’t stopped raining since dawn – she headed out of the communications bullpen. Carol and Margaret had left ten minutes earlier, and she assumed Donna was gone because her desk was empty. But just as she was heading past Josh’s office, she heard Donna’s voice.

“A bullet point report?” she was asking. Cathy slowed, figuring she’d wait and walk out with her. “And you need it when?”

“About an hour’s fine.”

There was a pause. “You need it by one o’clock?”

“Yeah, and then we can start going through the other two volumes.”

Another pause. “Josh, you know you’re on the hill this afternoon, right? You have meetings from one.”

“What?”

“Senator Bill Darny wants to talk about the overhauling the Postal Service and—”

“The Postal Service? Are you kidding me?”

“It’s been on your schedule for three weeks, Josh.”

“Reschedule.”

“You want me to reschedule it?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“But—”

“Donna! I have a headache like— Like a goddamn jackhammer. And I have to get this done, so just cancel the meeting and get me some lunch.”

Cathy’s eyebrows rose. Donna thought the world of Josh – that much everyone knew – but Cathy didn’t always understand why. Sure he could be amusing, and somewhat charming, but she’d take Sam’s gentle idealism over Josh Lyman’s volatile zeal any day of the week. She moved away from the door when she heard footsteps, doing her best to look as though she’d just been passing rather than blatantly eavesdropping.

Donna was tight lipped when she emerged, and Josh was as disheveled as always. “Hey Cathy,” he said distractedly. And then his eyes brightened, “Oh, are you getting lunch?”

“Well...” She flung Donna a quick glance. Donna shrugged and looked resigned. “Ah, yeah.”

“Great!” He rummaged in his back pocket, looking for something. “Here, let me give you some— Donna, where’s my—”

“On your desk.”

“Right.” He turned. “Cathy, hang on a moment.”

When he was gone, Donna crowded close. “Just go. For some reason I’m not allowed to ask about, he has to go through all three volumes of the NLRB report today. And so...” She trailed off, but looked more crestfallen than annoyed.

The sound of files being flung on the floor drifted from Josh’s office. “He knows it’s your birthday, right?”

Donna just shrugged, but didn’t have time to answer before Josh reappeared. “Here,” he said, brandishing a twenty. “Get me something red blooded. I need cholesterol.”

“Like a hole in the head,” Donna muttered.

He cast her a look. “And she’ll have something without taste or calories.”

“Some of us plan to live beyond fifty.” 

“Really? Because when you steal half my food – which you know you will – does it not have any calories, or cholesterol or—”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Slick answer.”

“Okay, try this one: go away.”

Cathy smiled as Josh disappeared back into his office, but despite the familiar to-and-fro between them she wasn’t convinced Donna was as relaxed as she made out. There was something in her face beyond the usual exasperation which, everyone knew, was simply affection in disguise. Today she saw a shadow in her eyes that looked suspiciously like sadness; the fact that Donna wouldn’t quite meet her eye only confirmed it. “Are you okay?” Cathy asked as she tucked Josh’s money into her purse.

“Yeah.” She gave a rueful shrug. “I should know better than trying to plan anything around here, right?”

That was true enough. “We’ll do lunch another time, okay?”

“Sure.” She smiled and nodded toward Josh’s office. “I’d better get back in there before—”

“ _Donna!_ ”

“That.”

“You know,” Cathy said with a wry grin, “there are other jobs...”

Donna made a face, halfway between ‘yeah right’ and ‘Don’t I know it’. In a low voice she said, “Get him a grilled chicken ciabatta with no mayo or cheese, salad and low-cal vinaigrette.”

“Is that revenge?”

Donna’s smile was ambiguous. “Something like that.”  


  
The National Labor Relations Board was established in 1935 to administer the National Labor Relations Act, the primary piece of legislation through which employee and employer relations were regulated. But a recent decision by the Board regarding the unionization of graduate students (teaching assistants) at The University of Texas, had caused some to wonder if this almost un-amended piece of seventy year old legislation needed revamping.

So Leo had asked the Board for a report on the effectiveness of the existing legislation, along with recommendations for a new National Labor Relations Act, which they duly delivered. All three volumes of it. It was closely written, legalistic and, frankly, dull.

But that wasn’t what was aggravating Josh’s headache to almost migraine proportions. What he didn’t understand, what simply defied all explanation, was that somehow his meeting with the Board had crept up on him like bad news and he found himself trying to digest the whole thing the day before the meeting. The day before!

He’d been busy, but he was sure he’d asked Donna to schedule some time for this. She was off her game, it was the only explanation. But the fact was that the diary on his desk had ‘NLRB – all day’ scrawled across tomorrow’s page and he hadn’t read the report yet. The only silver lining to the otherwise leaden day was that Leo hadn’t started chasing him for an executive summary. But it was only a matter of time...

“ _Donna!_ ” Damn, it hurt when he shouted. He rubbed at his temples and the back of his neck; it was tension. A tension headache. If he could just relax... Perhaps he should go stand against the wall? “ _Donna!_ ”

She stepped back inside his office, eyeing him irritably. “Cathy said she’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“If it hadn’t taken her twenty minutes to tell you that, she’d be back already.”

Donna ignored him. “I assumed that you were yelling because you wanted me to come in here, instead of writing up the executive summary for volume one?”

He blinked, not entirely sure why he’d yelled for her. It was just reflexive sometimes. “Ah, yeah. No, you should go do that first and then we can start volume two with lunch.”

“Oh what fun.”

He cast her a dark look, but decided not to call her on failing to schedule enough time for him to review the report properly. He probably owed her one after the cell-phone incident this morning. He’d even seen the new battery pack last night...

_So many Lawyers, so few Bullets._

The stupid bumper sticker flashed into his mind, accompanied by Noreen Todrunter’s lipstick smeared, ranting face. His headache pulsed, turning his stomach. _Relax, relax..._

“Josh?”

He realized his eyes were shut, his head in his hands. He looked up. “Do you have more Tylenol?”

“Yes,” she said, watching him carefully. “But it hasn’t been four hours since you took the last dose, and you took too much then, so you can’t have any more for another hour.”

“Donna—”

“Tylenol contains paracetamol. Did you know that there are over 200,000 cases of accidental paracetamol poisoning every year? It’s practically an epidemic.”

He dropped his head back into his hands. “I’ll mention it to the Surgeon General next time I see her.”

“You should.”

He didn’t answer, concentrating on trying to shove Noreen Todrunter out of his thoughts. But it was too late; his mind was running with it and he remembered that he hadn’t spoken to Toby or CJ, and he had no doubt that Todrunter was right now plugging his name into Google and phoning the first hack she could find to sell her pathetic excuse for a ‘story’. And his head wouldn’t stop hammering, his back was aching and somehow he was struggling to breath evenly and—

“Josh?” 

“Yeah.” With effort he sat up, wincing at the pain in his head. “Maybe something without paracetamol?”

Donna nodded, moving around the desk toward his chair. Without invitation, she perched on his desk in front of him. “Are you okay?” It was that tone of voice she’d used every single day for a month after Christmas, the one that meant ‘are you going nuts again?’

“It’s just a headache,” he assured her, cutting the sarcasm because even he knew her concern was genuine. And justified. “I hit my head this morning, when I...”

Donna had gone very still, as if she’d suddenly and miraculously turned into marble. Or alabaster. He knew it was the silence before the storm. “You hit your head when _you crashed your car_?”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Did you see a doctor?”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“You hit your head.”

“It’s nothing, just a lump. It’s—”

“There’s a lump?”

“Donna—”

Without warning she seized his chin in one hand, and tilted his face up. “Look into my eyes.”

“What?” The word came out muffled; she had a firm hold on his chin. “I don’t think hypnosis—”

“Be quiet.” She was staring at him intently.

Figuring he’d get out of this faster by playing along than objecting he subsided and stared back at her. She had nice eyes; usually they were pale blue, but today they seemed more gray. Like the ocean, when a storm’s brewing...

She held up one hand. “Follow my finger.”

Oh please. “Did I miss the bit where you went to med school, Donna? I don’t remember that on your résumé.”

“You’ve never seen my résumé,” she pointed out. And then she dropped his chin and sat back. “Okay, you don’t seem to be concussed.”

“Thank you, Dr. Moss.”

But she wasn’t done. “Where did you hit your head?”

“I’m not going to—”

“Okay.” She rose. “I’ll make you an appointment to see a doctor this afternoon.”

“Donna, just get me—”

“You crashed your car!” She flung the words at him like an accusation and the room rang with a sudden, uncomfortable silence.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard her shout before. Not normally too fast at picking these things up, he realized she was actually upset. She’d worried too much even before Rosslyn, but since... After a moment, Josh touched his head just above his right ear. “There.” He figured he could live with a little fussing, if it kept her happy.

Donna nodded, composing herself. “I’m going to check for swelling.”

It almost sounded as if she knew what she was doing; perhaps Dr. Free Ride had made her play Doctors and Nurses? And that was an image he really didn’t need inside his head...

Her fingers were cool and silky smooth as they threaded through his hair; he determinedly didn’t react to the sensation – and then tried not to wince when she pressed against the egg-sized bruise. “See?” His voice sounded a little strange. “Nothing.”

Donna wasn’t convinced, using her other hand to feel the left side of his head – for comparison, he assumed. But the feeling of her fingers running through his hair was extremely...distracting. His eyes drifted shut of their own accord and his breathing seemed to quicken.

“You’re tense,” Donna said quietly.

“That’s why they call it a tension headache.”

“I can feel it.” She was actually rubbing his temples now, making small circle with her soft, cool fingertips.

It felt fantastic. Her fingers spread out, expanding the massage across his scalp and pushing the pain away with each movement. “You have hidden talents, Donatella Moss,” he said quietly.

“Better believe it.”

He smiled, and that felt good too. Perhaps that’s why he said, “I had the dream last night.”

Her fingers paused in their slow, delightful massage. “Was it bad?”

“Yeah. No. It was just a dream, not a— Not a flashback.”

Her fingers started moving again. “But you couldn’t get back to sleep?”

He smiled; she knew him too well. “No.”

“Are you okay?”

She was using that tone of voice again, and reluctantly he opened his eyes. As he did so, she lowered her hands. The headache had receded, but he suspected his hair was sticking out in strange directions and he could still feel her fingers on his skin like ghosts. “I’m fine, Donna. Really. Just stressed, just normal.”

She smiled at that, and reached out to smooth down his hair. “Okay.”

“You’d be the first one I’d tell if I wasn’t.” And he meant it. He owed her that much, after all she’d done.

Donna’s eyes softened to eggshell blue; the storm clouds had cleared. Then, without warning, she reached down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you Josh, that means—”

Which was precisely when Cathy walked in with lunch.  


  
“They didn’t have chicken, so I got you— Oh!”

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d just seen, but Cathy was pretty certain she didn’t want to see anymore. Donna jumped up from where she’d been perched on Josh’s desk, suddenly very pink. “Cathy!” That was evidence enough that she’d seen something. It was incredibly awkward. 

Josh, on the other hand, simply looked bemused. And just as frazzled as always. “That was quick,” he said, running a hand through his mussed hair.

_Mussed? Oh Lord..._

Trying not to look at either of them too closely, Cathy set their lunch down hurriedly. “I got you turkey salad,” she blurted.

“Salad?” Josh echoed, but she ignored him.

“The change is in the, uh, thing.” And then she was out of there, as fast as she could go without actually running. If she’d just blundered in on some illicit, intimate encounter she really, really didn’t want to know about it! Although what the hell they were doing leaving the door wide open she didn’t—

“Cathy!” Donna was hurrying after her, more flustered than she’d ever seen her. “Wait.”

She slowed, composed herself and turned with a fixed smile. “Yes?”

Donna grabbed her arm and kept walking. In a low voice she said, “Look, that wasn’t what it looked like. Actually, I don’t know what it looked like, but it wasn’t what you think.”

“I didn’t think anything,” Cathy replied, eyes front.

“Seriously,” Donna persisted. “It was just a— We were just. He had a headache.”

“So you decided to kiss it better?”

Donna stopped walking. She looked mortified, and Cathy instantly regretted the barb. “Look,” she said quietly. “It’s none of my business. Really. I just don’t— The less I know, the better. Okay? For your own sake, Donna.”

“It really wasn’t what you thought.”

Cathy watched her for a moment, saw the confusion and embarrassment. Saw the ache that she hid so well. “Wasn’t it?”

Donna didn’t answer. “I have to get back to work,” she said suddenly, turning to go.

“Donna?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m not judging you.”

“There’s nothing to judge, Cathy. I swear.”

And she might be right, but no one who’d ever seen them together would believe her. “Carol says 12.45, by the way,” she said as she started walking. “If Josh wants to talk to CJ.”

“I’ll tell him.” And then Donna was gone, walking briskly back toward her desk, leaving Cathy feeling disconcerted and somehow in the wrong. With a sigh, she turned the corner and braced herself for Sam and the thesaurus.  


  
She couldn’t face going straight back into his office, so Donna diverted via the bathroom in search of a moment’s solitude. How had this happened? How had this day gone so horribly wrong? How had her birthday turned into the-day-when-Cathy-found-out-I-have-a-thing-for-my-boss? Worse than that. Cathy thought she and Josh were—

She couldn’t even complete the thought.

And the worst of it was that, deep down, she knew it was her own fault. She should have gotten herself transferred as soon as these ‘feelings’ had surfaced, or at least as soon as she’d realized they were in control and there was absolutely nothing her reasonable mind could do to persuade them to go away. She should have spoken up, thrown herself on the sword of unrequited love and quit.

But no. She couldn’t do it, partly because she loved her job, but mostly because she loved—

Well, she wasn’t about to complete that thought either. The upshot of it was that she’d messed up, just like she always did. And Josh was going to be dragged into it. Not that she thought for a minute that Cathy would gossip, but this was the White House, it thrived on gossip and nothing, but nothing, could ever stay secret for long. Sooner or later she’d be found out, and the thought of that humiliation...

She felt cold suddenly, a bone-deep chill. She’d be transferred away, he’d be embarrassed and irritated and she’d feel like a High School kid with a crush on the teacher. It was too horrible to contemplate.

And she refused to let it happen. She’d learned many things from her three years in professional politics, and one of them was this; it’s always better to jump before you’re pushed.

Hardly giving herself time to register the weight of her decision, Donna forced herself back out into the office. If she thought about it too much, if she let herself think about leaving this place – these people – she doubted she’d have the courage. So she just kept smiling, just kept walking, just kept being Donna Moss.

But the choice was made, and there was no going back.  


  
Josh examined his sandwich with little enthusiasm. Turkey salad, no mayo... This had the fingerprints of Donnatella Moss all over it. She was worse than his mother. If she started reminding him to wear a vest in the winter, she was fired. “Donna!”

As if by magic Donna appeared in the doorway. “It’s 12.45,” she said, as though it were significant.

“There’s no cheese.” He slumped back in his chair. “No mayo. No flavor. Did you—”

“CJ has a window, if you need to talk to her about this morning,” Donna said, refusing to rise to his complaints. In fact, she looked decidedly deflated.

He got up. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She turned away before he could get any closer, slipping out and back to her own desk.

He followed. “You look pale.”

“I have alabaster—”

“Donna.” For an instant she met his eye, then looked sharply away. She was definitely upset, even he could see it. Quietly he said, “What happened? Did Cathy say something? That was nothing, what just happened. Did she—”

“I’m fine, Josh. You should go, CJ’s waiting.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her. But he did need to talk to CJ. “Okay.”

She didn’t look at him, already opening her notebook and starting to work on the summary they’d hashed out this morning.

“Okay,” he said again, giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

She flinched as if he’d slapped her, and he pulled his hand away in surprise.

“It’s 12.47 now,” she said, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Josh?” CJ was calling from the far end of the corridor. “Did you want to see me? Because I’m briefing in ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I—” With one final look at Donna, he headed after CJ. There’d be time enough later, he figured, to get to the bottom of whatever was bugging Donna. Plenty of time.  


  
CJ Cregg couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stared, pretty sure her jaw was hanging open in a very unattractive manner. “And you’re telling me this now?”

“It’s nothing,” Josh protested. “It was just a fender bender.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“Despite your name, you’re a terrible liar, Josh Lyman.” She took a step closer and he edged away, eyes darting back down the corridor toward his office. Looking for escape? Too bad. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No.” Then he shrugged and winced. “The woman. She mentioned whiplash.”

“Of course she did.”

“She only said it after she saw my ID!” 

“Your ID? You showed her your White House ID? You couldn’t just swap insurance details and be done?”

“I didn’t show it to _her_ ,” he said, as if that were obvious.

“Oh God, please tell me you—”

“I showed it to the cop.”

“There were cops?” _For the love of God._ “You said it was a fender bender!”

“It was! But Noreen Todrunter’s a fascist, Republican—”

“Josh.”

“Gun toting—”

“Josh!”

He shut up, barely. “She insisted on calling the cops, so I showed the kid my ID when he asked for my driver’s license.”

“Why? In the name of all that’s—”

“CJ, come on! I had to get to work. I was late—”

“Did you ask for special treatment?”

“No!”

“Did you imply that you should get special treatment, because of your position?”

“No...”

“Josh?”

He closed his eyes, jaw clamped shut. Then, through a held breath, he said, “I may have said I was late for work, and that the police would know where to find me if they wanted to arrest me.”

_Deep breath. Count to ten..._ “Okay. Okay, that’s all?”

“That’s all.”

That was containable, that was controllable. “Okay. Chances are no one’s going to pick this up unless—”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“CJ?” It was Carol, rushing past with her briefing notes. “Five minutes.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She turned back to Josh, who’d stopped squirming and now had that controlled stillness about him that usually meant trouble. “Because?”

“The woman just looked the type, and when she saw who I was...”

“You shouldn’t have taken out your ID.”

“I know.” He sighed, and looked like he meant it.

CJ reached out and squeezed his arm. “It’s just a fender bender, your insurance will cover all her damages. It’s not a problem, these things happen.”

Josh nodded, and they both turned to leave in opposite directions. But she hadn’t taken two steps before he called out. “CJ?”

“Yeah?”

His hands were in his pockets, and he was coiled tight as an over wound clock. “She had a bumper sticker,” he said. “So many Lawyers, So Few Bullets. It pissed me off.”

“I can see why.” CJ paused, not wanting to ask the next question but knowing she had to. “You didn’t go into her on purpose, did you?”

He looked genuinely shocked. “What?”

“I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“No! I didn’t go into her on purpose. I went into her because I dropped my phone and wasn’t paying attention.” Josh paused and took a deep breath. “But the bumper sticker is why I got out my ID. I just wanted to...”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I’ve given you another headache.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll cover your ass in there.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows, tension converting instantly to mischief. “Sounds like fun, CJ, although I’m not sure the press room is the best—”

She walked away. “Go back to work.” 

“You’re the best!”

“Preaching to the choir, buddy. Preaching to the choir...”  


  
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Not that the NLRB report was dull, it was just...verbose. Why use two words when you could use twenty? There were some interesting points in there, if you could just find them beneath the hyperbole and posturing. After rereading the same paragraph twice, and feeling like he was pulling the pertinent information out with tweezers, Josh flung himself back in his chair so hard it knocked against the wall behind his desk. “Some of this stuff is worthy of Dickens,” he complained, eyeing Donna.

She sat opposite him, her nose buried in volume three, and didn’t respond.

“You don’t want to know why it’s worthy of Dickens?”

“Not really,” she said, still not looking up. “But you’ll probably tell me anyway.”

“Words,” he said. “Dickens got paid by the word, which is why he used so many of them.” Yawning, he stretched. “Like this report, he used too many words.”

“You don’t like Dickens?” At last he’d got her attention.

Josh smiled at his small victory. “Not really. Don’t tell Sam.”

“You don’t like any Dickens?”

He considered for a moment. “I quite liked the Muppet Christmas Carol, but—”

“Josh!” She was outraged; he loved it when he outraged her. “What about _Bleak House_ , or _Great Expectations_ , or—”

“Hey, they make good movies,” he offered. “I just don’t like the way he writes.”

“Like you’re the expert.”

“I’m just saying... He uses too many words.”

“How can you not like _A Tale of Two Cities_?” she pressed. “A tragic story of unrequited, self-sacrificing love?”

“It has too many words.”

“Philistine.”

He laughed at that. “It’s not mandatory to worship at the altar of Charles Dickens, you know. I happen to like lots of other writers who—”

“James Sundquist? Louis Hartz? David Mayhew?”

“Fiction writers,” he cut in.

She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t read a novel since you graduated.”

That couldn’t possibly be true, but he was struggling to think...

“Ha!” Donna triumphed when he didn’t answer, “I knew it. Being forced to take a freshman class in English Lit doesn’t make you Renaissance man, Josh.”

“Neither does a penchant for schmaltzy nineteenth century literature.”

Donna blinked. “Schmaltzy? Did you just call Charles Dickens schmaltzy?”

Oh, this was really too much fun. And if they hadn’t been up to their eyes in the reform of the National Labor Relations Act... With a sigh, he sat forward again and pulled volume two back in front of him. “I just like writers who are economical with words.”

He was expecting another exasperated comment on his cultural barbarism, but instead he got a long moment of silence. When he glanced up again, Donna was watching him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. “You’d like Jane Austen,” she said, turning her attention back to her own report. “She’s very economical.”

Josh didn’t answer right away. He just watched her reading, watched the way her hair fell across her face. There was something about her hair... “I think I read her once,” he said. “At High School. It was about some woman going to lots of dances, and getting her man in the end.”

Donna smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Thank God for feminism, right?”

She glanced up, catching his eye for a split second, and said, “Thank God for literature.”

And what the hell did that mean? He was about to ask when she carried on talking.

“As much as I’d love to argue with you all afternoon, Josh, I have a thing this evening. So if I could be out of here by seven...?”

“On a Thursday? Are you kidding me?”

The tension he’d noticed in her earlier was suddenly back, or perhaps it had never gone away. “It’s important.”

So was the NLRB report, but when she looked at him like that... And she never, ever asked to go early, so maybe it really was important. “You’ll have to come back after.”

Donna nodded. “Sure.”

“Okay. Let’s see how far we get.”

By seven they had, in fact, made a lot of progress. The thing he loved about working with Donna was that she always understood his point, always got his instructions on the first pass, and always delivered exactly what he asked for. And was never, ever late. And so, by seven, Donna had written up the executive summary for volume two and Josh was halfway through volume three. Part of him – the mature, reasonable part – was pleased they’d made so much progress. The other part – the egotistical control-freakish side – was irritated that he didn’t have a better reason to keep Donna from her important ‘thing’. By ‘thing’, of course, he assumed she meant date. Not that he was in any way jealous, as he’d told Sam not too long ago, but he didn’t like it either. Dates were a distraction – just imagine what would happen if Donna, God forbid, got married and started taking time off to pick out china patterns? It would be the end of the world – in terms of keeping his schedule organized. Beyond that, he really had no interest in the latest in her line of—

“So, can I go?”

As always, Donna seemed to have the uncanny ability to tune into his thoughts and interrupt them just at the pertinent point. “What time can you get back?”

She was standing before his desk now, coat on and ready to leave. He had the impression that asking permission had been mostly for show. “Nine?”

“Nine?” That was early. “That’s okay?”

“It’s fine, Josh. I just need to show my face. I’ll be back by nine.”

Relieved that she didn’t seem determined to stay longer, he found a smile for her. “So who is he this time? From the White House press corps, perhaps? Or the Majority Whip’s—”

“It’s not a date,” she assured him. And, truth be told, she didn’t exactly look eager to go.

Something lurched sharply in the pit of his stomach. “Everything’s okay? It’s not some medical test or—”

She smiled suddenly at that. One of those rare, fond smiles that cut through layers of interference and made him feel like the only person in the world. “I’m fine, Josh. I’m just meeting some friends. I’ll see you later.”

And with that she was gone.   


  
The bar was humming, the atmosphere was great, Sam had already had two beers more than was wise, and all in all it was a nice little birthday bash. Except for two things: Josh was conspicuously absent, and Donna looked like a monsoon had swamped her parade. He suspected the two were connected.

CJ was sitting opposite him, regaling Donna with how she’d slapped down the guy from the Post who’d asked about Josh’s run-in with the Todrunter woman. (Was that even a real name?) Donna was suitably amused, but Sam had been a student of human nature all his life and few people could get much past him. Something was bugging her; she must have had half a bottle of wine already and instead of her words spilling out like popcorn from a hot pan, she was becoming quieter and quieter. Even CJ was struggling, and when she cast Sam a ‘help me’ look he decided to dive in.

“What happened to Josh this evening, Donna?”

Subtle? Not so much. Even Toby cringed.

Donna blinked, strove for a bright smile and said, “Oh, he’s working.”

“He couldn’t spare half an hour on your birthday?” CJ had never been known for her patience, not outside the press room at least.

“He... I—”

In a stark moment of clarity, Sam suddenly understood. “He forgot.”

Donna winced, and he could see her flush even in the dim light of the bar. She was embarrassed, as if it was some reflection on her that he’d forgotten. As if she wasn’t important enough to be remembered. Sam grabbed her hand. “He’s an idiot, Donna. Have I told you that? An egotistical, self-important, arrogant—”

“Don’t forget egotistical,” CJ chipped in.

“I said that already.”

“Well,” she nodded, taking another swig of beer, “it’s worth mentioning twice.”

“Yes it is. Donna... You didn’t remind him?”

She was blinking rapidly and forcing a smile she obviously didn’t feel. “I didn’t want— He was having a bad day, it’s not important.”

“Yes it is.” Toby’s three word contribution was, of course, exactly to the point.

CJ nodded. “Bad day or not, Donna...” She shrugged, and glanced over at Sam. “Did you hear about the bumper sticker thing?”

He hadn’t, cast a curious glance at Donna, and caught her surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. He pretended not to notice and she shrugged, clearly as ignorant about the ‘bumper sticker thing’ as himself.

CJ seemed surprised. “He didn’t tell you?” 

“No.”

Lowering her voice, CJ said, “There was a bumper sticker – on the car Josh went into.” She glanced around, “ _So Many Lawyers, So Few Bullets._ ”

“Nice.”

Donna didn’t say anything, only pressed her lips together as if purposely locking something inside.

“You know,” Toby said, topping up his glass from the bottle of red he was sharing with Donna, “I want one that says, _So Many Ignorant Knee-Jerk Reactionaries, So Few Rivers to Drown them In._ ”

“It’s catchy,” Sam observed.

CJ snorted a soft laugh, but Donna said nothing, just glanced at her watch. She was hurt, Sam could tell. Despite a string of recent failures, he was usually pretty competent at understanding the eternal mystery of the female mind. And it was clear to him, even through a slightly inebriated fog, that Donna was hurt. “This is ridiculous.” He pulled out his phone and started flicking through the menu. “I’m going to call him, tell him to get his ass down here and—”

“No!” Donna’s hand shot out to stop him, knocking the bottle of red over in the process and spilling most of it into Sam’s lap.

He jumped up, startled, and dropped his phone into the puddle on the table.

There was a moment of stunned silence beneath the incessant music of the bar. Sam stared at Donna, who was staring back in horror.

And then CJ laughed. Loudly. Donna put her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, and Sam wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying. Or both. Either way, he didn’t call Josh.

But he wasn’t going to let it end there...  


  
By nine-thirty, Josh was pacing impatiently. He’d actually made it to the end of the third volume, and was quite impressed with his progress. It was amazing what you could do without distractions and discussions about Dickens. A small voice reminded him that he’d started that debate himself, to get her talking, but he decided to ignore it in view of the fact that it was now nine-thirty and that Donna was late. Donna was never late.

It’s not that he was worried. She could look after herself on the mean streets of DC. And she hadn’t been driving, so couldn’t have had an accident. Really there was nothing to worry about, aside from the fact that she was unquestionably late.

To distract himself from not worrying, Josh slumped back behind his desk and started arranging the salient points of volume three into a bullet point report. Donna usually did this with a rapidity that he found more impressive than he’d ever let on; if he ever mentioned it to her she’d start about the raise again. Not that he wasn’t more than capable of doing it himself, but there were plenty of other pressing things that he could be doing, and the fact was this was her job and she was late and—

“Josh?”

He looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway to his office, tie at half-mast and exuding a distinctly vineyard aroma. “Good night?” Josh asked, eyebrows rising.

“Not really.” Sam slid into his office and collapsed on the visitor’s chair. “Donna emptied a bottle of wine into my lap.”

Josh stared, then found himself caught between bemusement and humor. “Donna did? Why?”

Sam waved it away as if it were unimportant. “She was trying to stop me from calling you.”

“From calling me? Why would she—”

“Because you’re an idiot, Josh. An egotistical, self-important, arrogant...” Sam frowned. “What was the other one? CJ had one...” He brightened. “Ah yes, egotistical. You’re an egotistical, self-important idiot.”

“And you’re drunk.”

Sam smiled. “I am,” he nodded sagely. “But in the morning, I shall be sober.” Suddenly he grinned. “God, I always wanted to use that.”

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Josh leaned back in his chair. “This is all very amusing,” he lied. “But is there an actual point? Other than you coming here to insult me?” He froze suddenly. “And where’s Donna?”

“Gone home,” Sam said smugly. “I told her to go home.”

Josh’s jaw dropped. “But I need her here! She said she’d come back. You can’t just—”

“It’s her birthday, Josh!” Sam snapped, suddenly no longer the friendly drunk. “It’s her birthday, and you forgot, and she was miserable and I told her to go home.”

“It’s not her birthday.” That absolutely had to be true. There was no way this was Donna’s birthday, because he wouldn’t forget that. “It’s definitely not her birthday.”

Sam laughed. “You think she got the date of her own birthday wrong, Josh? We were all at Marshall’s celebrating the wrong day?”

A cold panic washed over him like a bucket of ice water. “It’s not her birthday,” he repeated, grabbing his diary from the desk. “Look.” He stabbed a finger at the date. “See? Donna always writes her birthday in my diary in ten foot high red letters. It’s not there, see?” He turned the diary toward Sam, who leaned forward and glanced at it with interest.

“It’s not there,” he agreed.

“So, there’s been some bizarre mistake, or you didn’t—”

“But that’s not today’s date, either,” Sam added. “That’s next week.”

It was suddenly strangely difficult to breathe. “What?”

“That’s next week,” Sam said, turning the diary back a page. “This is this week. Oh, and look, it says ‘My Birthday’ in bright red letters.”

In horror, Josh took the diary back and stared. There it was, ‘My Birthday’, in Donna’s almost illegible scrawl. “Oh God.” Yup, definitely finding it hard to breathe. His eyes crawled across to the next day’s entry where she’d drawn a neat line through the entire day, and the entire day after that, and written across the top of them both – ‘Review NLRB report’. “Oh God,” he repeated.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam said again.

And there was not a single thing he could say in his defense. At last he looked up and stared at Sam. “She’s going to kill me.”

His friend’s face fell slightly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” What did that mean? “She wasn’t mad?”

“She was hurt, Josh.” Sam shrugged and stood up. “She didn’t say anything, but she was really hurt.”

The inability to breathe had turned into a hard pain in his chest that wouldn’t shift. “I should call her.”

“No. Call a florist.”

“Sam—”

“She’s sleeping it off, Josh. Call a florist and be nice to her in the morning.”

He felt horrible. He couldn’t remember feeling this horrible in years. “She was hurt?”

Sam stood up, and for a moment there was nothing drunk about his astute gaze. “You forgot her birthday, Josh.”

“I didn’t forget. I turned over two pages—”

“I think the point is that you needed the diary to remind you. Why do you think Donna didn’t say anything? Why do you think she told me not to call?”

“Because she wanted to make me suffer as much as possible?”

“Because she wanted you to remember – not be reminded.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No,” he laughed. “Women don’t tell you things like that, Josh. But since I’ve dated a lot more women than you have, I can...”

He trailed off, and into the suddenly awkward silence Josh said, “I’m not dating Donna.”

“No.” Sam cleared his throat. “Okay, so I’ve gotta go pee...”

With that he ambled away in the general direction of his office and Josh stared blindly after him, trying not to imagine Donna curled up, miserable, hurt and nursing an embryonic hangover...   


  
When the chips were down, the last thing Donna Moss ever did was curl up and feel miserable and hurt. What she did was plan. She planned her way out of whatever mess life had thrown her way; it had worked four years ago, when Dr. Michael Carter had dumped her with nothing but an overdraft to her name, and it would work now.

Escape was the key. She’d escaped Madison by hooking up with the Bartlet for America campaign. And she’d escape Josh Lyman by... Well, that part was hazy. But as she sat in front of her laptop (that is, her roommate’s boyfriend’s laptop), downing the requisite pint of water to stave off the otherwise inevitable hangover, the haze began to clear. The internet was an astonishing thing, and Donna was a firm believer. You could find anything here, from rare books to old boats. And, of course, you could find jobs. There were hundreds of them advertised, and Donna’s résumé was always up to date. You never knew, after all, when you’d have to leave in a hurry. Especially when you had a big-mouthed boss who was constantly courting public dismissal; after the day she’d come into the office to the rumor that he was about to be fired after mouthing off about the religious right she’d kept her résumé firmly up to date. Luckily for her – and luckily for whoever was going to employ her considerable organizational skills.

Since she’d been working for Josh, however, she’d never actually looked at job adds – why would she, when she loved her work so much? So it came as something of a surprise that she was so qualified for so many different jobs. Even more of a surprise were the salaries. She’d be earning five times the government paid her!

Really, there were no downside to this plan. New job, new city, new bank balance. New shoes! No downside at all, unless you included no friends, no politics. And no Josh.

“You’ll find new friends, and there’s always politics,” she told herself firmly. As for Josh, well, leaving him was pretty much the point of her entire escape plan. No Josh meant no more lying to herself, no more trying to hide feelings that would never be returned, and no more dreading the day the truth would come out and her career would disintegrate into a humiliating mess... All in all, she figured there were more pros than cons.

Taking another swig of water she continued scanning the job listings. Other than a fabulous salary, her only criteria this time was a determination to work for a woman. Just to be on the safe side.  


  
The following day dawned bright and clear, as if the sky had been washed clean by the rain. Donna knew how it felt. As she nibbled a corner of toast her eyes rested on the three neat letters, addressed and stamped, waiting to be mailed on the way to work. They represented her break for freedom, her search for control over a situation that had been spiraling into chaos for months. Since Rosslyn, if she was honest. But no more. Just looking at them made her feel more certain of her direction; she was Donatella Moss, Senior Assistant to the Deputy White House Chief of Staff, and she was supremely qualified to do any and all of the three jobs she’d discovered last night. Her life was no longer to be controlled by the mercurial whims of her boss – no longer would her day be made by a touch or a confusing, intense moment that seemed to mean much more than it should, but then disappeared like mist in the morning sunshine, never to return. Enough was enough, today was a new day and she was a woman reborn. Other clichés may also have applied, but her mind was still a little fogged from the bottle-and-a-half of red...

Abandoning the toast she went to brush her teeth, slipped on her coat and stepped out into the bright morning sunshine. It sliced like a knife through her eyes and she dove immediately for her sunglasses. A little fragile after all, but not enough to suppress her buoyant mood. And if there was a touch of artifice to her buoyancy, who was to know? _When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade._ She winced at the homily, trotted out routinely by her mom, but decided that there might be a sliver of truth in it today. Did she want a new job? Not really. Did she need one? Almost certainly. Could she get one with shorter hours and much more pay? Absolutely. It was a no-brainer, and she wasn’t going to dwell on it anymore. 

She was still determinedly not dwelling on it when she dropped her résumés into the mail, and when she walked through the White House lobby toward the bullpen. And it was certainly the last thing on her mind when she turned the corner and stopped three feet from her desk.

Josh knew.

There, on her desk, was the most exquisite bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen. It wasn’t huge, but was extremely tasteful and looked like it had cost a fortune.

Guilt money, she reminded herself.

But it _was_ beautiful.

And one day, perhaps, a man would give her flowers like that because he cared – not to tease her about a fake anniversary, or to try and buy his way out of trouble. Cautiously she approached her desk, stupidly afraid that if she got too close to the flowers her determination to escape this emotional mess would start to fail. She could almost feel her fingertips burning where she’d held the letters that struck her first blow for freedom...

There was a note buried in the bouquet, of course, and it was in Josh’s writing – not dictated over the phone. He must have bought the flowers in person, which actually said a whole lot more than the price tag. Not that she was weakening; it was still all about guilt.

But aware of his ability to overpower all her defenses with just a few words – let alone a look – she was cautious as she slipped a finger under the flap of the small envelop and pulled out the card. Inside, he’d written:

**_You must make the moon set and the sun rise, because without you I don’t even know what day it is. I’m more than sorry, and if I hurt you for a moment I’ll feel it forever._**

Yours always,

Josh

_Damn him. Damn him._ There was a pain in her chest now, as sharp as the lance of sunlight in her eyes. But it had nothing to do with a hangover, and everything to do with—

“Donna?”

For a moment she didn’t turn around, attempting to compose herself. But it was impossible and she soon gave up. She’d never been good at hiding what she felt. Turning slowly, Donna saw him watching her anxiously. “I’m so sorry,” Josh said, before she could speak. “When Sam told me... I’m such an idiot. I turned over two pages in my diary. Can you believe it? I thought it was next week already. Not that it’s an excuse, and I should have... I _had_ remembered, I swear. I’d even got you something already. I just, I don’t know, I just...” He trailed off when she didn’t say anything. “Are you not speaking to me at all?”

Donna smiled, knowing it was watery but too full of conflicting feelings to do anything about it. “Just waiting to get a word in edgewise.”

He looked at her for a moment, then said, “You should have said something yesterday.”

“You were having a bad day.”

“You _were_ having a bad day.” There was a pause, and then, from behind his back, he pulled out a small present. “Happy birthday, Donna.”

She took it from his hands, her eyes fixed on his face and not the gift. “I wasn’t mad at you, Josh.”

“I wish you had been.” He said it with an odd sort of intensity, then immediately looked down at the present in her hands. One of those moments that evaporated like mist. “Open it.”

Smiling again, feeling more than she should and convinced it was written all over her face, Donna needed a distraction. “Is it on the list?”

“What list?”

“The list of gifts I wrote out for you three weeks ago.”

“No.” The word was quiet, and almost a laugh, and did strange things to her insides. So much for a distraction.

Saying no more, Donna carefully tore open the paper. Inside was a CD, and her smile widened. “Classic Yo-yo. I don’t have this one.”

“It’s just out,” Josh said, excited now. He turned the case over in her hand. “And look, I got it signed.”

Eyes wide, she stared at the cover. _For Donna Moss, Number one fan! Peace, Yo-yo Ma._ “Josh!” she was grinning and couldn’t help it. “How did you...?”

He shrugged looking extremely pleased with himself. “I know a guy.”

She felt treacherous tears in her eyes, and pressed a hand over her mouth to try and keep them at bay. _Damn him, damn him, damn him!_ It was no good, she just couldn’t do the restrained, emotional-denial thing. “Josh...” Her arms went round him before she had time to think, and he hugged her right back. “That’s just... Thank you.”

He held her tight and murmured close to her ear, “I really am sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered back. “It really doesn’t.”

“You’re the best, Donna.” She could hear his smile, feel it in the warm breath teasing her neck. “I don’t tell you that enough.”

And right then, if Cathy or Carol or President Bartlet himself had walked past, Donna wouldn’t have cared. It would soon be over anyway, and if this made it a little harder to say goodbye then so be it. She didn’t have it in her to start walking away yet...

Not just yet.  


  
**Wednesday 9.50 pm**

Given the circumstances, Josh thought he was being reasonable. He hadn’t actually shouted, although he’d slammed the door pretty hard. When it bounced back open behind him, he closed it firmly and rested against it for a moment. He needed to collect his thoughts.

Donna stood with her back to him, in front of his desk with her hands folded. Like a kid about to get lectured by the Principle. Ignoring the rush of emotions – anger, betrayal, shock – he stalked around her and dropped into his chair. He felt better, behind his desk. More powerful. The evidence of her treachery was still in his hand, and he smoothed the letter out on the table. But before he could say anything, Donna spoke.

“What does it say?”

As if she didn’t know. “Don’t play games, Donna. I’m not in the mood.”

A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “It’s not a game. I have no idea why they’d be writing to you, Josh. I haven’t heard from them since I—”

“Personnel sent it up,” he cut her off. “It’s a request for a reference.”

Her eyes widened. “A reference? I didn’t think they took up references until they’d offered you the job.”

It wasn’t even possible that she didn’t know, but Donna’s face was always an open book. She didn’t have the gene for deception; unlike him, she wasn’t a born politician. “They _have_ offered you the job, apparently.”

“But they haven’t,” she protested, taking the letter out of his hands. “This must be some kind of mistake, because...” Her voice trailed off as she began to read. And then she looked up, right at him. “The job offer must still be in the mail. I haven’t heard anything from them since the interview.”

He swallowed, ignoring the bitter taste. “The day you had the migraine?”

“Yeah.” At least she had the good grace to hang her head. “Josh, I couldn’t say anything.”

“No,” he snapped, pushing himself to his feet. “Of course not. Because—”

“Because I knew you’d be like this,” she cut in, her own anger rising. “And I had to— I needed some space to get my head straight.”

Jaw tight, he stared at her for a long time, then said, “Is this because I forgot your birthday?”

“No!” She looked offended. “Really, I’m not that shallow.”

Shallow or not, at least it would have been a reason. It would have made some kind of sense. “Then _why_? I thought... I thought we were a team. I thought,” he gestured at the building around them, “I thought this was important to you.”

“It is!”

“But not as important as a six figure salary?”

She didn’t answer, and he could see her chest rising and falling as she struggled to keep herself under control. “Are you going to give me a reference?”

“Do I have a choice? I’ll be sure to mention loyalty as one of your strongest qualities.”

“Josh...”

“You know you have to give three months notice.”

“I know.”

And suddenly he couldn’t look at her anymore. He turned to stare out through the leaves brushing against his window into the darkness beyond. “Okay. That’s all.”

“Josh—”

“I said that’s all.”

But she didn’t leave. It felt as though hours passed with him standing staring out the window and her eyes locked on his back. He could feel the room slowly flooding with unspoken words, as flammable as gasoline. If someone lit a match, it would go up like a bonfire. 

“It’s not about the salary...”

“Then what?” He turned on her. “Explain this to me, because I thought you were one of us. I thought you cared! I thought you cared about what we’re doing, about what we’re going to do. I thought you cared about the President—”

“I do!” She shot back. “I do care, that’s the point. I care too much about—” She cut herself off sharply, but her face softened and her eyes turned bright and liquid. “I care too much, and I shouldn’t. And it could be embarrassing – not just for me, but for the administration – and so I have to leave.”

It was a curveball, and came right out of the sun. There was no way he could have seen it coming. “You care too much...?” His mind was spinning at a dangerously off-kilter angle.

“I’m sorry.”

One hand on his chair to steady himself, Josh stared at her. She was gazing at his desk so he couldn’t see her eyes, but her face was a delicate shade of pink. He didn’t think he’d find his voice, but somehow he managed to force out words even though he dared not breathe. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You care too much... You have...” God, he could hardly bring himself to say it. “You’re leaving because you have inappropriate feelings for...”

Donna looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“...for President Bartlet?”

For an eternal moment of silence neither of them spoke. And then her head snapped up, shocked, disbelieving and... Was that _amused?_ “What? No!”

_Oh thank God._ His legs actually felt weak with relief, and Josh found himself sitting down again. “I thought you said you cared too much—”

Donna laughed, a tense laugh that bordered on controlled hysteria. “Yes, but not for the President.” _You idiot_ , was the subtext.

“Then...?”

She stared at him, incredulity making her eyes bluer then ever. Or perhaps it was just in contrast to the color in her cheeks. “Don’t make me say it...”

“Leo?”

“Josh!” 

His relief was rapidly transforming into something else, something lurking between excitement and terror. He realized he didn’t want to say it either, just in case he was wrong. “It’s not CJ, right?”

She smiled and shook her head. He recognized it now, that smile. He’d always loved that smile, but now he knew why. It was full of affection, real affection. “So you see?” she said, skirting around the details. “You need to write the letter, and I need to earn five times my current salary and be home by eight every night.”

He didn’t know what to say; he didn’t even know what to think. If he’d suddenly found himself sitting on the ceiling he’d have felt less disorientated. He was just staring at her, words refusing to form in his mind. “I—”

“Don’t say it,” Donna warned, backing up a step. “Don’t say you’re flattered, or grateful, or— Anything. Just...” She was at the door now, her hand on the handle. “Please, Josh, just write the letter. Don’t make this into a thing.”

And then she was gone, and he was staring at his open office door in silence. After a moment he saw her walk past briskly, coat on and going home for the night. He didn’t try to stop her, he didn’t know how.

For once in his life he was completely lost for words.  


  
The letter was waiting for her when she got home, the sole occupant of her mail box. The envelope was made from thick, good quality paper and it felt weighty and important as she tucked it into her coat pocket and walked up to her apartment. The timing could have been better, but that aside she had no complaints.

Her roommate was already in bed when Donna quietly opened the front door; they rarely met aside from the occasional Sunday morning or Saturday evening. But Donna could hear the soft murmur of conversation from the bedroom and knew that Rick was over for the night. At least she assumed it was Rick. Best not to ask too many questions where Samantha was concerned. The sound was comforting though; Donna was a people person and she hated to live alone. She needed someone there, even if it was a roommate who seemed to spend a disproportionate amount of time horizontal with an enviable string of boyfriends.

As usual Donna had eaten at work, but she always got peckish once she got home. Breaking out the cookie jar, she set some water boiling for tea. Coffee at this time of night would keep her awake until her alarm sounded at five. As she waited for the water to boil she studied the letter from Manning Selvage and Lee. Had she received it the day before she’d have been a bundle of nerves anticipating the answer inside. Now it was simply formality. Although she couldn’t help smiling at the notion that someone at MS&L had messed up and sent out the call for references for the wrong candidate. It was exactly the sort of thing that happened to her...

Suddenly nervous, Donna ripped open the envelope and started reading. _Dear Ms. Moss, We are delighted to be able to offer you the position of personal assistant to..._ So, no twist of fate this time. And that was a good thing, she reminded herself, ignoring the little vortex of disappointment spinning in the pit of her stomach. It’s not like she could keep working with Josh anyway, not after today. The cat was out of the bag, the cards were on the table and Josh was scared witless. That much had been evident during the excruciating scene in his office. He hadn’t known what to say to her, but she’d seen the moment realization dawned and he’d looked as if a truck was about to run him down.

Who knew she could be so scary?

So, that was that. He knew – about the job, and about her reason for leaving. All she had to endure now were three months of his passive-aggressive anger, punctuated by awkward silences, until she was free to take up her new post in Atlanta. That would make it October, a nice temperature at that time of year she imagined. No DC winter. No ice, no snow. No Josh...

The water was boiling and she chose blackberry and apple tea. It didn’t go too well with the double-chocolate-chip cookies, but what the hell. She was celebrating. She’d have to tell Samantha too, of course, she’d need to advertise for a new roommate. And Donna would need to start apartment hunting down in Georgia. The Peach State, they called it. She liked peaches.

She sipped at her tea and stared at nothing in particular. In truth, she felt more dazed than anything else. It was as if she were riding a roller-coaster that was sweeping her away; she’d made the decision to get aboard, but now everything was out of her hands. The job offer, telling Josh, it had all just happened and there was no going back. Perhaps, in hindsight, it would have been better to just stay put, to keep her head down and keep her feelings to herself. And faced with the terrifying prospect of moving jobs and cities there was a definite allure to the head-in-the-sand approach. But Donna Moss was no fool, and she could remember the stifling sense of ‘what if’ that had trapped her, the endless stream of dates that would never go anywhere because there was nowhere for them to go. And the sharp pain that jabbed each time she was reminded of the difference between friend and assistant – between girlfriend and assistant.

That wasn’t the life she chose to lead. It was a fool’s life, and she was no fool.

So, fear be damned, she’d move on. That’s what she did, she planned and moved on. And so far the plan had never failed her. Not once.  


  
By the time the morning rolled around, however, Donna was less confident. It was all well and good embracing the unknown future from the safety of your kitchen, but walking back into the office the morning after the night before was something else entirely.

On the way to work she’d rehearsed half a dozen openings. They went from a casual ‘Hey, Josh’, that basically glossed over the fact that in their last conversation she’d not only quit her job, but revealed her inappropriate (his word) feelings for him, to ‘I think it would be better if I worked out my notice in a different office’. And even as she slowly walked through the bustling lobby she had no idea which line she was going to use. Much of it, she guessed, would depend on Josh... Her stomach twisted itself into the mother of all knots at the thought of facing him; if chopping her right arm off to get out of the meeting had been an option, she’d have seriously considered it. Hell, she’d have grabbed the axe and done it herself.

By the time she reached the proximity of her desk and his office Donna had crawled to a halt, causing the ever manic staff of the West Wing to jostle her as they hurried past. She was oblivious, however, her eyes riveted. His office door was closed. Shut tight. He hardly ever shut it completely, unless there was a very good reason. She suspected that she was the reason and it turned her cold – from dread, a dash of anger and a huge dollop of regret. This is how it would end, with him resenting her. Despising her, even.

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Donna tried to count her blessings. Well, blessing, if she was honest. If Josh had locked himself in his office, she might have all morning to brace herself for the meeting. She could clear her desk, sort out the day’s schedule, and try to keep her hands from shaking.

Hanging up her coat, dreading the sound of the opening door, she slipped in behind her desk. It was strange, sitting there in her everyday surroundings yet feeling so utterly different. For her the world had changed, but for everyone around her life went on as usual. The tornado had touched down only on the house of Donnatella Moss, leaving everything else standing. 

So distracted was she by her anxiety that it took her a moment to notice the envelope that sat in the center of her desk. It was just a standard white business envelope, yet when she glanced at it the name caught her eye: Manning Selvage and Lee.

Her heart thumped so loud she was sure the whole office must have heard it. There could be no doubt what this was; her reference letter. He’d written it already. Donna had convinced herself that he’d fidget and procrastinate and deliberately forget to do it for days, stretching out the agony as long as he could. In fact, she’d considered drafting the letter herself, just to get it over with.

It seemed she’d underestimated him. Or, perhaps, he simply couldn’t wait to show her the door.

Her fingers were ice cold as she picked up the envelope. He’d left it unsealed; a deliberate sign that he wanted her to read the content. That was nice, she conceded. He could have stuck it down and left her wondering, but Josh wasn’t mean. Not like that. Swallowing hard, she pulled out the single sheet of paper and started reading. From the look of the formatting he’d typed it himself – he’d almost certainly used spaces rather than tabs, but overall it was reasonable. He could have had any of the other staff type it for him, and she wondered why he’d taken the trouble of doing it himself. Pondering that, she began to read...

**_Dear Sir  
_**

  
Re: Ms Donatella Moss  


  
Ms Moss has worked as my senior assistant for the past four years, both on the Bartlet for America campaign and in the office of the White House Chief of Staff. She is an extremely able administrator with excellent organizational and interpersonal skills. She possesses a keen mind and is able to comprehend and manipulate complex data to a consistently high standard, working well under extreme pressure and to tight deadlines. She can be relied upon to undertake any task with utmost competence, sensitivity and discretion, making her an invaluable member of my team.

Ms Moss is enthusiastic, conscientious and extremely hardworking and would prove an asset to any organization or business.   


  
Yours faithfully,

Joshua Lyman

Deputy White House Chief of Staff  


  
Donna read it through twice, her feelings so torn between surprise that he’d written it at all, and gratitude that he’d actually been nice, that at first she didn’t notice the hand-written _PTO_ at the bottom of the page. When she did, she stared at it for a long time; this was typical Josh, this was exactly what she’d been expecting. Just when you thought he was being professional, he’d fling out a passive-aggressive counterattack.

PTO... With no idea what she might find on the other side, but more or less expecting a rant, Donna turned the paper over. The back of the letter was filled with Josh’s irregular, almost seismographic handwriting. Donna wasn’t sure she even wanted to read it, but her attention was caught by a few stray words –‘bored’, ‘gloat’, ‘mindless’ – and she forced herself to close her eyes, take a deep breath, then start reading from the top.

**_I just realized there’s more you need to know about Donna that I didn’t include in the letter. First, she’s too nice to work for your blood-sucking corporation, and I mean that with all due respect. She’d be bored in ten minutes, outraged after fifteen and by the end of the day she’d be walking out and hiking back to DC to find a job that really mattered._**

But I guess that’s her call.

Second, she’ll never bring you coffee. And she’ll gloat if you get your ass kicked on TV, or in the Press Room, or in any public place. You see, she has the misguided impression that part of her job as ‘assistant’ is to deflate your ego – whether it needs deflating or not.

Third, she’ll question you all the time, and make you think about things you don’t want to think about. And then she’ll gloat some more when she mistakenly believes she’s actually changed your mind. Of course 90% of her conversation is mindless chatter – strike that, 99%. Actually, I have no idea because most of the time I’m not listening anyway. Doesn’t stop her talking though, so be warned. Some kind of earplugs might help...

Fourth, she’ll always be there when you get into work and   


  
He broke off here, and the writing started again on the next line.

**_I can’t write a list. Donna writes lists, she loves lists. But I can’t describe Donna in a list, because she’s more than a series of bullet points. She’s the one here first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She brings me lunch, and calls me on it when I’m being a jerk, and smiles at me when I get it right. She notices stuff. She puts fruit in my office and makes sure I never forget my Mom’s birthday. And I_**  


  
The next line was scratched through, and as hard as Donna tried to read it she couldn’t make out the words. When he carried on again his writing was smaller and all strung together without discernable sentences or paragraphs, as if he’d exhaled all the words in one deep breath.

**_She was there when I needed someone and I don’t think I ever said thank you. I should have because she was there and she took care of me and she didn’t have to. I don’t think she knows how important that was to me. We don’t talk about it, but I’d hate her to think I took it for granted or that I’ve forgotten. I haven’t. I will never forget, no matter what. And tonight she said something that deserved a response, but I didn’t know what to say and so I let her leave in silence and I can’t forgive myself. I still don’t know what to say, except that the day I first met Donna she told me she thought I’d find her valuable. Within a week I knew she was right. Four years on she’s surpassed all expectations. She’s so far beyond valuable I’m considering locking her in Fort Knox. She thinks she has to leave because she feels something and I think that’s BS because we all feel things and if we didn’t we’d be, well, let’s face it, Republicans. I don’t have any answers I just don’t want her to go. She doesn’t have to leave, none of this needs to change anything unless we want it to._**

So I’d appreciate it if you fired her ass ASAP and sent her back to DC where she belongs.

Yours, 

JL  


  
The moment she finished reading, Donna sat up straight, folded the letter and jammed it back in the envelope. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d just read, or what any of it meant, all she knew was that her stomach was flip-flopping like clothes in a tumble dryer and that no one else in the office should ever, ever see that letter. Five seconds later it was out of the envelope again and she was reading it from the top, wading through his sarcastic list, then into the warmer paragraph about the fruit and his mom’s birthday, and then finally onto the scrawled passage about the things they never discussed.

When she’d read it for a second time she put the letter down carefully. She felt as though her eyes had been opened to a truth she’d known all along, but kept hidden because it was just easier that way. She’d spent the best part of the past six months convincing herself that, if Josh ever discovered her girly little secret, he’d want her gone. But he didn’t, he wanted her to stay. And contrary to what she’d believed (or wanted to believe?) it seemed that her feelings weren’t entirely unrequited. She wasn’t deluded enough to imagine that Josh had any intention of changing the nature of relationship, and if she was honest she wasn’t sure that’s what she wanted either.

It had been a tough year for Josh – for both of them – and this wasn’t the time to start rocking a boat which had only just survived a dark and terrible storm. In many ways they were both still fragile. But the truth was, the past year had drawn them closer – closer, perhaps, than was wise – and it was starting to show. Cathy wasn’t the only one to have suspicions about the nature of their friendship. If there’d been nothing there, if their relationship had been entirely and unquestionably platonic, then there’d be no harm in idle gossip. But there’d always been that subtle tension, the undercurrent of ‘what if’ that had started out as fun and over the past twelve months transformed itself into something more.

_No smoke without fire,_ as her father would say.

She glanced over her shoulder toward his office door. It was still closed, and she suddenly knew that he was waiting for her to come and talk about the letter. He was probably pacing, trying to work, trying to distract himself. The thought made her smile, the accompanying rush of warmth washing away her tension for the first time since yesterday.

He’d landed the ball in her court, and was waiting for her to make the next move. Taking a deep breath, Donna stood up, folded his letter neatly and slipped it into her purse. Then she headed determinedly for the coffee machine.

This was the end game.   


  
Sitting behind his desk, Josh stared at the door as if he might somehow develop x-ray vision and be able to see if Donna was out there – and if she’d read the letter. He knew it was the cowardly approach, that he should have actually spoken to her face to face, but— Well, he wasn’t ready for that and he knew he’d inevitably put his foot in his mouth and make everything ten times worse.

If that were possible. She was leaving him, what the hell could be worse than that?

He hadn’t intended to write to her, but the words had started flowing and he’d just let them, on the understanding that he’d feed the letter through the shredder when he’d gotten it off his chest. Only then, when he saw it in black and white, he’d realized that there were some things that he’d never told her, and that she deserved to hear. And, more importantly, that she’d made herself vulnerable and that he’d let her leave in silence. He owed her a reply...

It was strange how his stomach tightened at the memory of their stilted, confused conversation. Joey Lucas had teased him about Donna’s feelings for him a couple of months back, but he hadn’t believed her. Or had he? At the time he’d denied the possibility outright, but now he was thinking more clearly and suspected that the denial had been an instinctive response born of a decade in DC. Deny, deny, deny.

But last night Donna had swept away his denials and shown him the truth. Their relationship had gelled into something deeper than friendship, something so complex it didn’t even have a name. He’d tried to pin it down, but it was impossible. It couldn’t be labeled.

They weren’t best friends because that implied a platonic easiness that they’d never enjoyed; their relationship had always had a frisson of tension.

They certainly weren’t lovers, although they shared a physical intimacy that he’d never had with Mandy – or the string of other dates and girlfriends before and after.

And while they definitely weren’t simply colleagues, they worked together with an effortless grace that was almost symbiotic.

In some strange way, he realized, their relationship was a combination of all three. It was unique, and necessary to him on a personal and professional basis. He couldn’t lose it, not now. He’d already lost too much of himself this year, he couldn’t lose her too.

Pressing his hands against his temples, Josh closed his eyes and willed her to open the door and talk to him. Anything was better than this interminable waiting, and if she didn’t make an appearance in the next ten minutes he swore he’d—

“Josh?”

He sat bolt upright. Damn, how had he not heard the door open? “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them moved and then Josh found his eyes drifting down to her hands and stared in horror. “What’s that?”

Donna smiled her ‘ah-ha!’ smile and said, “Coffee.”

“Why are you bringing me coffee? The last time you brought me coffee I was about to get fired.”

Closing the door with her hip – something he’d like her to do more often – Donna said, “The two events were entirely unrelated. I don’t think you’re about to get fired.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

She smiled again, a little more softly this time, and moved across the room to sit in the visitor’s chair. She put the two mugs on his desk and said, “Josh, we need to talk.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“And you should sit down first.”

He sat so fast he felt like a puppet with his strings cut. “Donna, I—”

“First,” she said, reaching for her coffee and taking a sip, “I brought you coffee to prove that your second point on the list was untrue.”

“Okay,” he agreed, reaching for his own mug. “Did you put sugar— Never mind.”

“It’s NutraSweet.”

“That’s carcinogenic.”

“Only if you’re a rat.” She cocked her head, “Are you rat, Josh?”

He hid a smile with a sip of coffee and said, “Depends on who you ask.”

She acknowledged the point with a smile of her own, and then settled back in her chair and crossed her legs. He tried not to notice her legs, but short of stabbing himself in the eye with a sharp pencil... “Second,” Donna said, forcing him to lift his gaze to her face, “you don’t have to thank me, for anything. And you don’t owe me anything either. No debt of gratitude, Josh. I did what I did because—” And here, for the first time since she’d stepped into his office, she faltered. “Because—”

“Because that’s what we do,” Josh finished quietly. “Because neither of us stops for beer or red lights.”

“Or earthquakes.”

“Or when the sky’s falling.”

She smiled at that, the smile that made him feel like the center of her world. “No, we don’t.”

“This doesn’t have to be a problem,” he said quietly. “Seriously. It doesn’t have to change anything, or—”

“Josh, Cathy said something the other day. On my birthday, after she walked in with lunch.”

“Really?” He leaned closer. “She said something to you?”

“She thinks we’re...you know.”

“You told her we’re—”

Donna laughed, but it sounded weary. “Just good friends. I told her we’re just friends, Josh, but we’re—”

“Not. I know.”

Donna took a deep breath, and set her barely touched coffee on the corner of his desk. “If I— If I don’t take the MS &L job, then I think we need to take a step back.”

If I don’t take the MS&L job... He couldn’t get past that for a moment. She was reconsidering? Yes! But... “A step back? What do you mean?”

She waved her hand between them, faintly irritated. “This Josh, we need some, I don’t know, we need some—”

“Misdirection?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Exactly. A cover, a distraction. Otherwise, you know it’s not going to just stay like this. Something will happen, and it’ll be great for a while, and they you’ll act like a jerk and the whole thing will fall apart.”

“ _I’ll_ act like a jerk?” He glanced at the door and lowered his voice, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “Donna, are you trying to blame me for the break-up of a relationship we’ve yet to have?”

The smile was back. Damn, but he loved that smile. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Okay.” He was smiling too.

“Okay,” she agreed. “So, we’ll just...back off a step. And see what happens. Back off, and just wait and see.”

“For how long?” he asked through a held breath.

“Until... it’s easier. Or right. Or— Josh, when I say back off I mean, seriously, I have to let this go for now or it’ll drive me crazy.”

“Crazier,” he corrected. “You mean _crazier_.”

“I’m going to see other men,” she warned, rising slowly to her feet.

“You’re always seeing other men.” And he’d never been ecstatic about it, but she had a point. Misdirection, Joey had called it.

“Nice men,” Donna countered. “Men with potential.”

He stood too, circling his desk to come and stand in front of her. “And if I keep seeing other women...?”

“ _Keep_ seeing, Josh? I don’t recall you having a successful date with anyone since that incident with the fountain and—”

“I’m talking about— It’s the principle, Donna. I may not choose to, but I might find myself bewitched one day... Then what?”

She smiled again, and briefly pressed her hand against his cheek. “Then go for it. That’s my point.”

“And you’d be okay with that?” 

For a moment she said nothing, just looked at him as if she could see right inside of him. “I’ll take the roller-coaster over the long straight road any day of the week.”

“Is that what this is?” He was amused by the metaphor. “A roller-coaster?”

Donna shrugged. “Sometimes it feels more like the Titanic.”

“You’re a nut. You know that?”

“And you’re late for senior staff.”

He glanced at his watch. “I am.” After a beat, he said, “So we’re okay? You’re not running off to become a Southern Belle?”

“You’d better run,” she said. “Or Leo will whoop your—”

His office door cracked open. “Josh?” It was Toby, glancing around the room until he found them standing close together and talking softly...

Josh took a hasty step back and bumped into his desk. “We were, ah, just discussing the budget.”

There was a lengthy pause, and then Toby said, “Okay. I don’t care. Josh, Leo needs you to go see the President with him in a couple of minutes.”

“Really?” he glanced at Donna, who just shrugged. Nothing on her radar. “I thought we had senior staff?”

“Rescheduled.” Toby ducked back out into the corridor. After a moment he reappeared and said, “Josh? I’ll be in my office when you’re done.”

Then he was gone, and Josh found himself staring at Donna in a strange, stunned silence. “That was—”

“Odd.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. “I’d better go.”

Donna frowned and started to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Josh?” she said anxiously. “Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and ignored the flare of adrenalin in his chest. “You know what this is? It’s probably something to do with the tobacco thing. That’s probably what this is.”

“Right,” she agreed. “That’s probably what it is. So, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” He was at the door too now, his gaze drifting along the corridor after Toby.

_I’ll be in my office when you’re done._

“Listen, Donna, before I go...” He surreptitiously squeezed her hand to make sure she was taking him seriously. “We’re okay, right? You and me?”

“Stepping back,” she reminded him, pulling her fingers free. “We’re stepping back.”

“I know, but we’re okay. I need to know we’re okay.”

Relenting, she offered him a brief smile. “Yeah, we’re okay. Now get to your meeting.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” With a swift stride he headed off down the corridor. “Oh, and order lunch,” he called, turning and walking backward for a moment. “I want a cheeseburger, and I mean a real one, not some Soya bean muck. Okay?”

He caught her gesture – which was either a wave or something less polite – and grinned to himself. Donna was staying, they were friends again, and that meant all was right with the world.

Today, he decided, was a good day. And there was absolutely nothing that anyone could do to ruin it...

~The End~  



End file.
